


Something Old

by rosehips



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: M/M, so idk, this turned out to be kind of a crack fic, which is not something i've ever written before
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 08:06:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12979728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosehips/pseuds/rosehips
Summary: Prompt: "Their wedding was supposed to be a quiet -- okay, no, no event with the entire Carisi family could ever be QUIET -- but it was supposed to be a joyful affair. Neither Rafael nor Sonny counted on the kidnapping."





	Something Old

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThetaSigma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaSigma/gifts).



> Well, here is my contribution to this Christmas' SVU fic swap! Thank you Eric for being my beta. ThetaSigma, thank you for the prompt, and apologies that it's almost certainly not what you had in mind -- I didn't really feel up to writing angst. Hope this will do!

Sonny’s first thought is that his tuxedo will get wrinkled.

It’s stupid, really, to be focusing on such a small detail, something that doesn’t really matter -- that’s his second thought:  _ stupid. _

His third thought is  _ How am I gonna get out of this trunk? _

And underneath each of these is not so much a thought as a feeling, an instinct:  _ How am I gonna get back to Rafael? _

The day had started so beautifully. Even the night before had been perfect, just him and Rafael at their apartment. Drinking wine, listening to music; Rafael read, his head in Sonny’s lap, Sonny’s hands stroking idly through his hair. Quiet after the happy bustle and noise of the reception. Just what they wanted, just like any other night in, except this time everything was elevated to something almost divine -- word Sonny does not use lightly. The light glancing off their wine glasses, the rise and fall of Rafael’s chest. The sound of him turning the pages, even. All of it carried such tremendous weight that night that Sonny was nearly overwhelmed. He couldn’t manage to do anything but sit there and stroke Rafael’s hair and think  _ my husband. My husband.  _ He was so happy.

That was what he’d been thinking of this morning, too. That, and what they’d done afterwards, the way they’d whispered “I love you” against each other’s mouths, through moans and sweat and gasps, “I love you” over and over until the words should have lost their meaning but didn’t, only meant more every time.

That was what he’d been thinking about when Gina, sitting beside him in the little room off the apse, told him he looked flushed. Told him he should get some air.

He figured that was probably a good idea.

So he went out to the little church parking lot, and he’d hardly gone two steps when someone grabbed him, and he wasn’t expecting it, not here, and he didn’t have his gun or even his phone and he was so surprised that the hands on his arms -- two sets of hands, then -- dragged him easily, before he could think to struggle, and shoved him down into darkness.

And that’s where he is now: in the trunk of a car.

Sonny manages to wrench and roll and wriggle himself into a better position -- back to the wall closest to the car, feet curled towards the door of the trunk -- his right arm is cramped and hurting where he lies on it but he ignores the feeling, and prepares to kick out the tail lights. It’s worked before, he knows; he’s read about it, even knows a cop who pulled over a car after seeing an arm waving desperately from the jagged hole where a tail light should have been. She, the cop, she’d saved the little girl inside, and remarked when she told the story that the girl had been so smart, so strong, so brave. 

If a six-year-old kid can do it, Sonny figures, so can he.

But the first kick is ineffective, and he’s not even sure he hit the right spot. The second one doesn’t get him any further, and before he can manage a third, the car screeches to a halt so quickly he’s rolled over on his face.

Quick, light footsteps of two, maybe three, people approach. He braces himself, tries to get on his back so he can see the faces of his kidnappers, but they open the trunk too quickly. He twists his neck to see, squinting through the sudden light, and, wait --

“What the hell, Sonny?” 

Theresa sounds downright furious. 

Still blinking, he gapes up at all three of his sisters. Theresa is in the middle, hands on her hips, the picture of indignance. Gina to her right is trying not to laugh, and Bella looks embarrassed, like she’s kinda sorry for him.

“What -- what?” he stutters. “You kidnapped me?  _ On my wedding day? _ ”

“You were trying to break my car!” Theresa counters as if that’s a logical reaction, and she leans over to check the interior, then back to make sure the tail light isn’t damaged.

“Theresa, what the fuck!” he cries, clambering out. Gina actually tries to  _ push him back in  _ and he shoulders past her, scrambling until he’s a few feet away and can glare at them all at once.

“Why did you do this?” he demands. “Where are we? What --”

“It’s tradition,” Bella interrupts, and her placating-yet-bossy tone only irritates him more. “You always grab the bride before the wedding, it’s tradition.”

He stares at her. “No it’s not. And I’m not a bride.”

“Close enough,” shrugs Bella, and Gina laughs.

He rounds on her. “What would you know about being a bride?” he snaps, and immediately regrets it -- but Gina, veteran of broken engagements, is unfazed.

“More than you, apparently,” she grins.

He looks back to Bella. “Did they do this to you, when you married Tommy?”

“Yeah, but they did it before I got all the way ready. Didn’t want my dress to get torn.”

“What about my tux?!”

“You look fine,” Theresa tells him. Apparently she’s satisfied that her car is unharmed, and she shuts the trunk. “Are you ready?”

He’s momentarily dumbfounded at all three of them, trying to wrap his head around the fact that they kidnapped him. On his wedding day.  _ His wedding day.  _ “Ready for what?” he manages to ask.

“Your something old!” chimes Gina.

Bella nods, and begins to recite. “Something old, something new, something --”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, borrowed and blue,” Sonny snaps. “I already have all those.”

“Rafael marrying you with his grandmother’s ring doesn’t count as your something old,” Theresa insists. “You have to have it before you go to the altar, otherwise it’s bad luck.”

He can hardly believe his ears. “Bad luck? Bad luck like getting fucking kidnapped on your wedding day? Bad luck like being late to your own ceremony?” Sonny is sitting in the trunk now, legs flailing but never touching the ground as he tries not to raise his voice.

“You won’t be late,” Bella reassures him, stepping forward to pat him on the back. “We’ll make sure of that.”

He lets out a breath and sucks another one in, finally taking a moment to get his bearings. They’re pulled off to the side of the road, down the street from a pretty little park. He can hear a fountain somewhere nearby.

“Is that where you were taking me?” he asks, gesturing over to the trees.

“Yeah,” Theresa says, “until you started trying to destroy my car. Do you know how much that thing cost?”

“I don’t care how much your boyfriend paid for it, Theresa, I thought I was being kidnapped.”

“I told you he would freak out,” Bella says conversationally. “He’s a cop.”

“What does that have to do with it?!” Sonny asks indignantly. “Never mind, just -- okay.” He checks his watch. He won’t admit it but it brings him relief when he sees they really had timed this alright; there’s no way he’s going to be late.

“Okay,” Sonny he says again. “Fine. I’ll have my revenge later. In the meantime, what’s the something old?”

Theresa smiles and this time it’s sincere. His heart can’t help but soften at the genuine pride and joy on her face as she pulls something small and shiny from her pocket and hands it to him.

He takes it in his palm. It’s heavy, a tie pin with a moonstone set in the center and tiny strands of silver, intricately braided, surrounding it.

“What is it?” he asks.

Bella beams. “It’s made from Ma’s old necklace, the one Grams gave her. Remember?”

“You always thought it was so pretty,” Theresa adds, “she had to stop wearing it when you were a baby because you kept grabbing at it. We got that jeweler down the street to make it into a tie pin. It was Ma’s idea.”

He turns it over in his hands. “It’s beautiful,” he says -- whispers, almost, because he’s suddenly feeling a little overcome. He clears his throat. “Thank you.”

“You love it!” declares Gina triumphantly. “We were right, this was  _ so  _ worth it.”

Sonny glares at her. “You didn’t have to throw me into a trunk and drive me miles from the church --”

“--we’re barely even one mile,” Bella informs him --

“--miles from the church,” Sonny repeats, “to give me this. We could have done this there.”

“But it’s tradition!” Theresa says, half-whining in a way she thinks is cute (and, okay, she’s almost right). “Bella didn’t mind when we did it to her!”

“Well I already figured you were going to do it, is why,” Bella informs Theresa, “because we planned it for Gina, like, six times, so I knew you’d do it to me.” She jerks her head at her brother. “He probably near had a heart attack.”

“Uh, yeah,” Sonny states. “I did.” He looks down at the tie pin again, and closes his hand around it protectively. “Can we go now?”

Theresa sighs. “Sure. Get back in the trunk.”

Gina guffaws at the look on Sonny’s face -- “She’s just messin' with ya, Sonny, come on. You can take the middle seat.”

“I want the window seat,” he complains. “I don’t wanna get squished in the middle, my tux is already wrinkled.”

“Rafael won’t notice,” Bella says with confidence as she shoves him playfully towards the car.

“If you think Rafael won’t notice the tiniest imperfection in an outfit,” Sonny tells her, climbing in, “then you don’t know him at all.”

Bella takes the pin from him and fastens it in the center of his bowtie. “Nah, he’ll be too busy mooning over your face,” she grins, and Theresa starts the car.

 

Turns out they were both right, because it isn’t until after the ceremony that the stars clear enough from Rafael’s eyes that he notices.

“Why is your tuxedo a mess?” he asks Sonny under his breath as they start the first dance.

Sonny ducks his head to hide his smile, trying not to laugh. “It’s kinda a long story,” he whispers. “I’ll tell you later.” He pulls back enough to see Rafael’s face -- Rafael’s smile -- and this time he can’t restrain himself. He laughs, quiet and giddy, and leans in for a kiss.

“What’s so funny?” Rafael murmurs against his lips.

“Nothing,” Sonny says, pulling back. “I’m just really happy.” 

And he is.


End file.
